"Whatever you say, voivode," answered Nikka equably. "But what about your own men? They're a likely-looking lot."
"Yes, but not so many of them have the gifts I require in this service," retorted Tokalji, lifting the bottle once more. "They are clever thieves and fighters, but what I require now is men who can follow and spy. My best men at that work have failed to produce anything worth while in two weeks, and moreover, they have become known to our enemies. I must have new men, and abler men."
He bent his brows in a ferocious grimace.
"If you succeed, you are my friends. You shall have rich pickings. But if you fail you had better leave Stamboul."
Nikka dropped his hand again on his knife.
"Why threaten?" he asked coolly.
Tokalji glared at him with the blankly savage menace of an old gorilla.
"Beware how you defy Beran Tokalji in his own den," he snarled. "Well, let it pass. It shows you have spirit, but do not tempt me too far, Giorgi. When I am aroused I must taste blood."
Nikka rose.
"I am a free man," he answered casually. "So is my comrade, Jakka. We sell our knives and our fingers to the best bidder, and if we don't like the treatment we say so and leave."